


Electric Girls

by tentacledicks



Series: Glamorous Indie Rock & Roll [1]
Category: Mass Effect: Andromeda
Genre: Alien Cultural Differences, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, M/M, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-15
Updated: 2020-09-15
Packaged: 2021-03-06 18:48:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,868
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26483701
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tentacledicks/pseuds/tentacledicks
Summary: He edges over towards Evfra’s sullen figure, leaving her be for the moment. The alien-but-familiar scent of an alpha punches him right in the nose, twice as bad as Jaal’s always does, but he’s learned how to avoid going cross-eyed every time he stands in a room with Evfra. Mostly. When it counts.“So are you actually going to join the party, or did you just come all this way to guard the Moshae?” Scott asks, because ‘not going cross-eyed’ and ‘keeping his stupid mouth shut’ are two different and apparently exclusive motor functions for him.Scott handles business before pleasure with all the dignity, grace, and aplomb a Pathfinder should have.
Relationships: Jaal Ama Darav/Male Ryder | Scott
Series: Glamorous Indie Rock & Roll [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1925356
Comments: 3
Kudos: 24





	Electric Girls

**Author's Note:**

> This basically exists as setup for the sequel mmmostly written out to follow after, and there's a much more fleshed out prequel that's barely written at all that comes before this. But! Once again, I am On My Bullshit, and there's going to be at least five fic in this series, so this is as good a time to start posting as any!

He stops in front of the door, hesitating with his fingers over the keypad. Sara’s already laying back down again, her back to him as she hides her face in the pillow; a quick scan with his omnitool shows her breathing evening out, heartbeat steady, as she drifts back off to sleep. It scares him, how much she’s sleeping, but he can’t put off the party forever.

Doesn’t even want to, really. Scott’s always liked a good party (perhaps too much) and he’s always been the social butterfly of the two of them, but he doesn’t want to just leave her. It feels wrong after how many times they’ve been dragged apart. Sometimes he thinks that she’ll slip through his fingers again if he’s not careful.

The more he hovers, the less happy she’ll be. Here on Meridian, she’s got a chance to dig her hands into the guts of an ancient alien technology, uncovering secrets that no one’s ever touched before. That’s the thing that finally gets him to open the door and leave, knowing that Sara’s going to recover and have twice the fun she ever dreamed of.

Of course, he’s promptly accosted by Tann about the stupid ambassador position, so maybe he’s just a fucking idiot, actually.

The funny part is, he can see the logic behind the request. It’s objectively hilarious that he’s the one the decision falls on, just like it’s objectively hilarious that Addison hates her job almost as much as she’s determined to do right by it, but Scott can see the thought process going into this. There needs to be someone who _isn’t him_ as the spokesperson for the galaxy, and the only one who could pick someone like that would be… him. Like Alec passing the mantle on, like Macen trying to save Avitus, like Raeka making the fatal choice that would leave Hayjer in charge. (Sarissa dug her own grave, and Scott’s putting her out of mind for the moment.)

Love him or hate him, Scott’s been the one speaking for Andromeda for a while now. It’s not sustainable when he's technically supposed to act in human interests first, and it’s not a job that he’s well suited for. So it’s kind of a relief that he’s not even in the running, even if he suspects that’s one part Tann hoping for a more malleable successor (as if) and one part Addison trying to eliminate the headache of an omega in charge of a now mostly-human Initiative.

But also, it’s a party, and he’s regretting inviting them. Kesh and Kandros can stay, but they’re on thin ice for trying to make him work during a party. The fact that he wasn’t in charge of invitations at all doesn’t factor into Scott’s resentment here—recovering from the battle doesn’t count as a vacation, so he’s smarting over the fact that he’s losing the little free time he has here.

Hayjer’s not an option, and not just because Tann’s the one that put his name forward. Scott won’t say it out loud, but this wasn’t the job he signed up for, it’s sure as hell not the job Hayjer signed up for, and if the salarians are ever going to find a home on Andromeda, their Pathfinder can’t be distracted by the interplanetary slapfights he can already see cropping up. The fact that Morda won’t abide by it either is a problem too, but— 

“Hey, if stability’s what you’re after, why don’t we make sure the krogan stay? Morda could do it.” He doesn’t even mean it for real, though the way Kesh laughs makes him think Morda will hear about this anyways. Mostly he’s buying himself time to think, and time to listen to Tann squawk about the unsuitability of the krogan to lead. (Again.)

“It’s… unorthodox,” Addison says, and it sounds like she wants to be anywhere but here. 

“Unorthodox got us this far,” Scott points out, the wheels in his head turning. He’s been a point of contention for some people—not all, not enough to make a difference, but enough to make it a problem, all the failures of his biology trotted out by humans furious that they weren’t ever in the running to be Pathfinder. Everyone’s a goddamn critic, except for the non-humans that don’t care about what’s in his pants. The irony of humans having more issues with their human Pathfinder doesn’t escape him.

“But perhaps we could move towards a more _conventional_ sort of leadership,” Tann says, all but demanding Scott pick Hayjer outright. The things Tann would do for the perception of control are incredible.

But Scott’s thinking now, and he’s thinking hard. Most of the Milky Way races don’t have strong noses, and the ones that do still don’t care about human hierarchy. None of them flinch when walking through Aya, none of them have that brief hesitation when passing by angara on the Nexus or in Kadara Port, none of them waver for a second when talking to the race that lived here first. That’s just humans, as far as he can tell.

If he’s going to show favoritism, he figures he might as well go in all the way. Because if his naysayers were unhappy about having an omega Pathfinder representing their interests, he cannot _wait_ to see how they react to having the Moshae speaking for them instead. “If we want this to work, and we want the angara to buy into the concept of a galactic council, we need them to feel like they have a voice. The Moshae could do it.”

“On this, the eve of Meridian’s success, we would just hand over our influence?” Tann doesn’t sputter, but that’s more a trick of physiology than anything else. Scott can’t stop himself from staring at him, feeling the way Kandros echoes his disbelief, the only thought in his head a refrain of _fuck you, you weren’t there_.

It doesn’t matter that the Hyperion was taken from the Nexus and they were probably doing everything in their power to prepare for another attack. It doesn’t matter that all of this was, in a roundabout way, his fault in the first place. It doesn’t matter that it was a last minute scramble to save the Hyperion and no one could have known where things would end.

What _matters_ is that the angara were there and Tann most decidedly was not. So Scott can’t hide the anger in his voice when he says, “Yeah, I’m not going to order anyone. But if you want my choice, you can _ask_ the Moshae if she’s willing to be interim ambassador. Her or Morda. Pick one, Tann.”

Tann sniffs, all affronted pride, and stalks off. Kandros just shakes his head and follows after, Kesh still chuckling softly as she heads down the hall slightly apart from them. They’re not going to pick Morda, he knows that. He’s pretty sure that Tann would rather let the galaxy fall into madness before handing any sort of legitimacy over to her.

Addison doesn’t move.

“Look, Ryder, I know we’ve had our differences,” she says, which is a really polite way of saying ‘I tried to steal your ship three times because you were the wrong Ryder for the job’, “but I want you to know—you did good work out there. Take a break. Relax for a bit. There’s more to life than this.”

“Yeah. You too, Addison.” It’s easier to just let it go, because she looks and smells exhausted. She wanted something to do and he’s dumped a whole boatload of outposts and colonies on her plate; as far as he knows, she’s probably the most overworked beta in the galaxy right now. (He thinks Bradley might be tied with Reyes for second.)

She rubs at her eyes, then pats his arm once in a gesture that’s too impersonal to feel fond and leaves. For a few seconds he thinks about turning back around, heading into what are technically his rooms, and then climbing on the bed next to Sara the way they did when they were kids, back when Dad would occasionally surprise them with informal survival gauntlets. Maybe if he just curled up next to her, he’d wake up again in the Citadel, about to ship out to boot camp for the first time, before everything in his life had gotten _complicated_.

He steps forward instead. There’s a party, and he’s never been one to turn down a party. More importantly, somewhere out there is Jaal, and Scott wants to find him before he lets Nexus leadership ruin this night for him.

There's a lot more people hanging around once he's out of the hall, most of them trying to catch his eye. People wanting to talk to him is nothing new. He spots a few members of the crew mingling with the crowd but doesn’t approach right away, leaving them to chat with the colonists who’ve just been woken up. The Hyperion is slowly but surely emptying, with Meridian becoming something more like a home than just the spoils of an epic quest. Scott dodges as many people as he can, using his boring face like an asset when people ask where the Pathfinder is. The party is mostly human, but that just means that the heavier scents of angara stand out more, and he chases the one he knows is Jaal around a corner.

“Hey,” he says, about two seconds after running face first into his boyfriend’s chest. “How’s the party?”

“Remarkably boring,” Jaal tells him, one arm wrapping around his shoulders as Jaal tugs him closer. “Don’t tell the host I said as much, however. There’s typically much more singing at our parties… and much more drinking as well.”

“Give it a couple hours, if people aren’t getting naked and dancing by midnight, then there’s just not enough alcohol involved.” Scott drags his cheek over Jaal’s rofjinn, marking him in a way that no one else can tell but still feels shamefully indecent, then leans back to examine the rest of the party.

Jaal looks hopelessly fond of him, his eyes big and blue, the upturned curve of his lips as familiar to Scott as breathing. Things had been kind of touch and go, right after they killed the Archon, but both of them are alive and well. Scott’s forever grateful for that. 

“None of this would have been possible without you,” Jaal says softly, catching his chin and leaning in until their lips are brushing. “To think, no angara would have trusted you when you first arrived. Now the Archon is dead and the Moshae returned to us.”

“Well, it wasn’t like we made a stellar first impression,” Scott breathes into the kiss, cupping Jaal’s cheek and dragging his thumb over the scar there. “We’re gonna make it happen though, all those bright and shiny futures and happy endings. Just you wait.”

“I will be by your side for every second of it.” Jaal pulls away, putting a few inches between them, and quirks his lips slightly. “But not for this part, I think. You have people to talk to.”

“Aw, no, why are you making me be responsible at my party?” Scott makes an exaggerated face of despair, then sighs and untangles himself from Jaal’s grip. For all those fine words, Jaal isn’t letting go easily, and Scott’s a lot more reluctant to leave than his joking tone might indicate. He’s sick and tired of playing the diplomat.

But Jaal is right. There’s at least one person he has to talk to.

“I meant what I said about the naked and dancing once the alcohol gets going,” he says, dragging his fingers through his hair as he locates the Moshae standing at a slight remove from the rest of the crowd. “This means that when I get back to you, I expect alcohol so I can join in on the fun.”

“Of course, my heart,” Jaal says, utterly indulgent and definitely not moving to go find the booze. Scott gives him one last kiss anyways, because he can’t resist kissing Jaal when he’s _right there_ , then ducks past a group of breathlessly excited betas rhapsodizing about their new world. The new colonists, they’re lucky. They get to wake up in paradise. Which is exactly as it should be, and the obvious joy in their voices soothes the lingering sting talking with the Nexus leadership had left behind.

He keeps his head down so no one stops him, moving between groups of chattering humans until he reaches where the Moshae stands with Evfra a disapproving shape leaning on the wall behind her. Scott's willing to bet he has a gun tucked away somewhere, but who could blame him? He doesn't expect Evfra to start shooting randomly, so it's fine.

“Pathfinder. I’m told I’m about to get exceptionally busy,” the Moshae says, her voice cool and remote as a mountain peak. Not for the first time, Scott wishes he could manage that level of calm resilience.

“Which, given your health, is unwise,” says Evfra, and _there’s_ the real reason for the disapproval. Not that Scott thinks he’s happy with humans at the best of times, given everything, but usually Evfra isn’t quite this disapproving of _him_ nowadays, so at least he knows where he fucked up this time.

“We all gave of ourselves, Evfra. It was time. And as this ‘ambassador,’ I will continue to do so.” Her cool tones never vary. Scott truly wishes he could manage that level of smackdown with just a statement, because holy shit, she is impressive.

“We’ll do everything in our power to keep you safe and healthy,” he agrees, figuring that's his best bet. Evfra is probably going to stay mad at him anyways, but if he says the words out loud, it’s like speaking reality into being. “But I’m not going to force our leadership on the angara, not without some kind of representation.”

Her weighty gaze lands on him and he has to fight the urge to squirm. “You know, I am not the key to unanimous support with the angara. We rarely agree on everything.”

“Yeah, but you deserve a voice at the table,” he says, knowing it's true but also knowing that he's lying just a little bit. “I figure this is the best way to remind everyone that we're doing this as friends, not enemies.”

“Then I will gladly help build the system that gives us that voice. _All_ of us.” She favors him with a slight uptick of her lips, then regards the rest of the party with solemn consideration. Some of the newly woken colonists watch her in return, curiosity and trepidation on their faces in equal measure, and he knows it's not just because these are the first _new_ aliens the second wave of humans have seen.

His main reason for putting the Moshae's name forward is a formalized alliance with the angara, but the other reason Scott will never admit to, the terrible thing he’ll never say, is that she smells like an omega. Overpoweringly so, with a depth and richness to her scent almost no human can match—he certainly can't. Scott's secret is that he wants the angara at the table, but the reason he picked the Moshae and not Evfra has everything to do with that scent. Humans are going to learn to deal with their stupid social hierarchy getting thrown in the trash, and that starts here: an omega Pathfinder putting an angara cultural icon in a position of power, knowing exactly what she reads as to the ignorant species from Earth.

He edges over towards Evfra’s sullen figure, leaving her be for the moment. The alien-but-familiar scent of an alpha punches him right in the nose, twice as bad as Jaal’s always does, but he’s learned how to avoid going cross-eyed every time he stands in a room with Evfra. Mostly. When it counts.

“So are you actually going to join the party, or did you just come all this way to guard the Moshae?” Scott asks, because ‘not going cross-eyed’ and ‘keeping his stupid mouth shut’ are two different and apparently exclusive motor functions for him. “Which, I mean, it’s fine if you did, Jaal says this is pretty boring compared to angaran parties anyways, but…”

Evfra gives him a withering look, like he wishes Scott would shut up almost as much as _Scott_ does. But he also stops fiddling with the angaran equivalent of an omnitool, flicking away whatever he’d been reading and dropping his arm. “This is the first time she has left Aya since you rescued her, Ryder. Of course I’m here to guard her.”

“A fact that does not preclude you from enjoying yourself now that we’ve arrived,” the Moshae says without looking over. There isn’t a drop of sarcasm in her voice. There doesn’t need to be.

“Regardless, I have no interest in making a fool of myself,” Evfra says after a moment, with a strong undertone of _I have my dignity_. Which is really the only reason that Scott says what he does next.

“Great! I'm a big enough fool for both of us, so I’ve got that handled.” He is the dumbest, it’s him. Somewhere in the crowd, his boyfriend is (not) getting him alcohol and being handsome and dashing and probably getting flirted with, but Scott is right here making an ass of himself in front of Evfra. In his defense, he’s never seen Evfra outside of the Resistance headquarters, so it’s making it really hard to keep sensible, diplomatic, sensitive Scott to the fore, instead of whatever brain-dead idiot he is the moment he stops having to look responsible.

It’s… not much of a defense. He should’ve brought Jaal. Evfra _likes_ Jaal.

Evfra also looks like he’d love for Scott to leave him alone now, but instead of saying as much, he turns his attention fully over to the Moshae. Probably for the best that all three of them ignore the foot in Scott’s mouth. “How long do you plan to stay?”

“I believe that I will return with the Nexus leadership to their station,” the Moshae says, which is news to _both_ of them. “You may accompany me, of course, but if I’m to take on this role, I would like to have a better idea of who I will be dealing with. Kandros and Director Tann have already made arrangements for me on their ship.”

“Uh,” Scott says, because he’s at least bright enough not to ask if she _really_ wants to spend time at length with Tann. Presenting a unified front, that’s important.

“And you intended to tell me this _when_?” Evfra asks, a tinge of aggravation in his voice. But not, Scott notes, any hint of surprise. This is probably not the first time she’s changed plans on him, and considering how headstrong she is (he cannot _wait_ for the rest of the humans on the Nexus to get mired in one of her rhetorical traps) it’s definitely not the first time she’s gotten her way.

With all the regality of a queen, the Moshae ignores Evfra’s feelings on the matter. “Before it was time for us to leave. It seems that they intend to spend a few days at Port Hyperion, so there would have been ample time between now and then.”

Oh no. Oh fuck no. Absolutely the fuck not. Scott is struck by the mental image of getting dragged into _yet another_ argument between Tann and Kesh, with Addison waffling depending on where she thinks the colonies will fall while none-too-subtly trying to take his ship, Kandros flatly disagreeing with anything he thinks might impact the safety of the Nexus and—no. They have invaded his party. He is _not_ about to let them tarnish the wonder of Meridian for him too.

“Well!” he says brightly, because otherwise he is going to sulk back to his room with Sara and just start screaming. “It’s a shame I won’t be able to see you off, we’re going to be leaving in the morning. If you ever need a ride off the Nexus, the Tempest is always available.”

“I will keep the offer in mind, Pathfinder.” The Moshae graces him with a real smile this time, one that draws a noise out of Evfra that might be a protest or might be a cough. And on that high note, he turns to leave, intent on finding Jaal, finding the booze, and then finding a dance floor to get downright embarrassing on.

Except Evfra says, “Ryder, a moment,” and there’s no power in the world that can keep Scott from turning back.

He doesn’t look discomfited, but he doesn’t look happy either. Not that he ever looks happy. Scott tries to picture a happy Evfra, then realizes that he’s just standing there giving Evfra a weird look instead of asking why he’d said something in the first place. “Uh, yeah, what do you need?”

“Since it appears that I will no longer be accompanying the Moshae back to Aya, I would like to make a stop in Kadara to get in contact with my agents there. But I would prefer to do so in a ship that wasn’t identifiable as a Resistance ship.”

Understanding dawns, leaving Scott blinking because he’s almost not sure he heard Evfra right. “You want to come with us on the Tempest?”

“If it won’t impose,” Evfra says begrudgingly, like he’s pretty sure that Scott’s just looking for an excuse to get off planet anyways. He’s not wrong, and the request gives the whole thing an air of legitimacy that’s really, really appealing.

Almost as appealing as the idea of having Evfra in a confined space with him, making all those charged remarks at Jaal, feeding the horny bastard in the back of Scott’s brain that insists on spinning out ridiculous porn scenarios between the two of them. Between all _three_ of them. It’ll never happen, but it’s really hard to block the image out when Evfra’s the most alpha person he’s ever smelled, and Jaal’s got all those angaran pheromones of his own to fool Scott’s human nose.

“Nah, it’s fine,” Scott says, desperately trying to get his brain back on track. Finding Jaal is rapidly becoming a necessity. SAM Node might be off limits to everyone, but Scott’s pretty sure he can find the override codes and then sneak them in there. It’s not like SAM isn’t watching anyways. “We’ll be lifting off in roughly ten hours, sound like a workable time table?”

“I will be there.” Evfra tips his head in a nod of acknowledgement, then pulls up whatever he’d been fiddling with before Scott decided to intrude on him.

Good. Great. Fantastic. He’s just going to have _two_ sexy angara on his ship for a while, and he’ll figure out sleeping arrangements… later. He’ll figure all of that out later, because there is a party going on and Scott has ten hours to make the most of it. There’s a lot he can fit into ten hours.

But first, he goes to find Jaal again.

**Author's Note:**

> It's a crying shame that the elcor didn't come to Andromeda on the Nexus, because I have a whole pile of worldbuilding about the way human hierarchy intersects with Elcor olfactory communication and I can use NONE OF IT.


End file.
